


Memories

by kashxy



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming
Genre: Child Experimentation, Experimentation, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, Kidnapping, PTSD, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Tony Stark, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-10-17 16:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashxy/pseuds/kashxy
Summary: There are no tiles to help him sleep, so Peter counts bruises.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there! this fic was abandoned for a few months due to other commitments and a loss of interest. it’s currently undergoing some editing and updating, so please bare this in mind. thank you for reading :)

When Tony found Peter, he wasn't sure which emotion hit him first. Agony, grief, anger... He swore he’d felt his heart shatter in his chest when he looked down to see a child, _his kid_ , on the metal table. Covered in fluids Tony didn’t even want to _think_ about, he kept his eyes trained on Peter’s face, and tried to ignore the fact that he was completely naked and entirely black and blue. 

He was eerily still; no emotion, be that happiness, relief, or terror seeping through the vacant look in his eyes. In fact, he was barely blinking. His stillness was frightening.

Tony hesitated before taking a few wary steps till he reached Peter’s side. He peered down at the boy's unmoving face, dry tears scarred into his pale cheeks. He looked so different, yet utterly the same. How had he changed so much, yet stayed exactly the same? 

"Peter? Hey, kid. You alright?"

It was a stupid question. He wasn't okay, and besides, Peter was in absolutely no fit state to answer. He almost seemed to be floating, lost in a bubble of dissociation that Tony was too terrified to pop. 

An IV tube stuck out from his arm, pumping a clear liquid into his veins as Tony watched it continuously flash. Slow and steady, like it was working in time with Peter’s heartbeat; it was obvious that the only thing keeping him in this comatose state was the fluid in his body. So, without thinking, Tony pulled the needle out. 

Then, Peter screamed.

He flew upright in absolute blind panic, eyes wild like a terrified doe. His legs had begun shaking, his breathing already escalating rapidly. As he stands there, Tony realises he’d been completely wrong. Peter couldn’t have been further from ‘ _the same_ ’. 

"Hey, kid, it's okay. Calm down. You're okay, you're okay."

Peter’s head twisted to the side, his fingers clawing up his skin, like he was pulling at fabric that Tony couldn’t see. He looked utterly broken, the type of broken he’d seen drive people insane, and the thought scared Tony more than he ever thought possible. 

A strangled scream escaped his parched throat as he frantically searched for something to protect himself. He flung himself off the table, one eye on Tony at all times, and pressed himself against the wall in the corner. 

 

_”Whip him again.”_

_Peter wasn’t sure when his body had given up on trying to fight off the pain; he cursed it, but he couldn’t blame it. If his psychological consciousness could shut down, he’d make sure it did._

_His feet burned, struggling to hold his tired body upright as he pressed his forehead against the oak pole._

_Pure agony caught his bones and twisted them into cramps, forcing weak, involuntary spasms out his body. He could hear a laugh from somewhere behind him, but he didn’t have the strength to be embarrassed anymore._

_Tears ran down his cheeks, his wrists rubbed raw from struggling against the restraints that bound him to the pole. His accelerated healing had long since given up on him; the simplest touch against his frayed skin hurt just as much as it would have it the perpetrator had punched him. It felt like they’d torn his skin off, layer by layer, and left his flesh to rot in the air. Peter couldn’t completely rule it out at this point._

_While his torturer laughed, Peter sleepily blinked into consciousness again; forgetting where he was, even for a minute, was both a blessing, and a danger._

_He’d found a game he loved a long time. He’d watch how much Peter could take, in anything - electrocution, whippings, water boarding...The man had yet to pick a favourite, and Peter was terrified of what he’d find it out to be._

_He had given up a few times, and the humiliation it brought him was becoming alarmingly familiar. They’d stand him, naked and shivering under a freezing cold hose and force him to repeat whatever words they chose for him that day._

_Peter let out a cry of pain as the whip met his skin again, alighting a fire on his back as it opened up one of the worst wounds he had. It had managed to lick across one of the deep knife gashes he’d acquired in the first few days of being held captive, after attempting to escape. A huge mistake, he’d learnt._

_A sick grin found its way onto his torturers face, a smile so wide it split his cheeks and didn’t seem to correctly fit his face._

_The man behind him grunted, and coiled the whip up again. Peter could hear the lick in the air as raised it once again to strike down onto his skin._

_New tears found their way to his eyes, surprising him even as he screamed out in pain. He could have sworn he’d cried himself dry a long time ago._

_He fell to the floor, his body_ _numbing out. The ropes above his head, tying his wrists to the pole, dug tightly into his skin as he cried. He struggled to pull himself up anymore._

_He leant weakly against the pole, choking on sobs and spit as he raised his eyes to the corner to his right..everything he had left to hope lay in a small watch, hanging lazily on a hook in the wall. The deactivated tracker haunted Peter, blinking teasingly at him, as if daring him to try and activate it._

_He would do anything to just try._

 

Tony watched, stricken by a fear he hadn’t felt in a long time as this kid, this fifteen year old kid, lay in a corner, shaking and crying. Half naked and incredibly emaciated, Tony didn’t even stop to think about how much he could have endured in the time he spent in this hell hole, alone, and in pain. He stumbled back, overcome with grief and guilt, as he watched Peter flinch weakly against the wall.

“Hey. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Peter looked up at Tony as he spoke, his eyes wide in fear and a stomach-turning anxiety. There was something behind his expression that had Tony crying. The intensity of the agony was too much to bear, and he bit down on his knuckle to keep from crying out. 

”No!” Peter screamed, voice hoarse, pressing himself into the wall so hard it opened up a few of the smaller wilts in his back. Blood ran down his side, and the blunt force of the wall against his exposed flesh forced a new set of tears out his eyes.

“No, no, no, no, I can’t leave, no, please.”

Tony didn’t think twice before enveloping him in a hug, not missing the way the boy flinched and squirmed underneath him before unwillingly surrendering and falling weak against the man’s chest.

“I’m taking you home, kid.“

Another cry left Peter, and Tony noticed he was pressing tightly against his back. He pulled his hands up, feeling slightly nauseous and incredibly guilty as he saw they were covered in blood.

“No, no, please, I can’t go home, he won’t let me, please don’t make me.”

Hysteria rose in the teenagers body and he sobbed, pushing himself even further away from the man. His hands scrambled at the wall, desperately trying to climb, to escape the danger. His body screamed in resistance, every limb painful and sore. 

Tony watched in a horrified trance as Peter slid down the wall, his bitten fingers bloody and shaking as they clawed furiously. Peter couldn’t climb anymore. 

"I-I under-stand, it's a tr-trap, I won't l-l-leave, p-promise!"

If the sight of Peter’s tortured body hadn’t already broken Tony’s heart when he’d stormed into this god forsaken place, hearing his kid beg him like he was _afraid_ of him, definitely did.

“C’mon, kid.” He said, his words slightly faltering. He could hear Natasha behind him now, her gasp audible in the horrifyingly quiet room. “We’re going home.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peter’s eyes slowly flickered open, flinching at the bright light in front of him. He winced, attempting to sit up before a strong hand pushed him down. He jolted, unnerved by the pressure, and blinked quickly up at the perpetrator. 

Strange and unfamiliar, the man smiled and pulled the lamp away from Peter’s face, resting back on his chair. 

“You’ve been out for quite a while, Peter. We were beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up.” 

Peter breathed out, struggling to contain his anxiety in his body as he writhed under the man’s gaze. He’d never been in a room with the men at a time when he wasn’t screaming in pain or dissociated; the unfamiliar known presence made his skin crawl, like he was trying to free bugs from underneath his skin.

His body aches, his limbs far too heavy all of a sudden. He was on his back, but he could _feel_ , and that pressure was like a rock crushing into his chest, permanently stopping the airflow he so desperately needed. 

Twisting his head, he whimpers, the over sensitivity of his body coming back to life overflowing his senses. His vision begins to blur, the man in front of him already busying himself around Peter’s head. He places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and he jerks back like he’s been burnt.

Somewhere between losing his hearing and losing feeling again, he blacks out.

-

The sheets are uncomfortable, rubbing against his sensitive thighs when he awakens. The sensation is odd, and a terrible odd, so he hurriedly kicks the blanket off of his body, wincing as each movement pulls another whine from him.

“Hey, hey, steady.”

Peter doesn’t answer, watching the stranger walk towards him with eyes trained to notice aggression. He flinches when the man gets too close, and doesn’t miss the way the latter recoils in shock. 

“You’ve been awake six times now. Stay with us this time?” 

His tone is pleading, and Peter’s eyes trail down to his moth-eaten t-shirt, studying the way the man’s bruised eyes follow him tiredly. He smells oddly familiar, but Peter can’t understand why. Perhaps he was one of their accomplices? 

He whimpers again, forcing his body to say still against the table underneath him. The feeling of being bound is familiar, so he replicates it as best as he can.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Pete. You’re safe. We’re not like them.” 

There’s too much going on at once for Peter to comprehend where he is. He flinches, tastes blood in his mouth, and is unsure of whether he should be comforted by the reality of still living.

“You can talk, kid. You’re okay now.” 

Peter doesn’t answer. He’s _terrified_. The man in front of him reaches out again, and he jerks back viciously, his breath trapped in his lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t speak, so he presses himself into the table and waits for the familiar pressure of confinement to comfort him. 

The man bites his lip, and takes a step away from where Peter’s laying. He steps back again, and again, and again, until he’s resting against one of the counters opposite his bed side.

Peter watches him warily, still unsure of his purpose. The table is wide, wider than his thin body, so he tries to replicate the position he’s used to. It’s comforting, if anything. 

“Peter, it’s me. To-”

The door to Peter’s right opens, and the man from before walks in. He looks tired, scruffy, with a hand full of coffee. Peter had seen that look before, and it didn’t mean danger. He allows his body to relax slightly, still alarm and ready if someone else were to harm him. 

“Oh, Peter. You’re awake.” 

The man doesn’t say anything else, and instead sits down at his computer, tapping the buttons on the keyboard lightly. 

“Sir, Miss. Potts is requesting your assistance downstairs.” 

Peter jerks back in shock, his eyes filling with tears already. He looks rapidly around the room, chest rising and falling in a hyperventilating motion. He’d been watching the door! How had someone gotten in without him noticing? 

“Pete, that’s FRIDAY. You know her.” 

“Hello, Mr. Parker.” The voice says in acknowledgment, but Peter only sinks into the table more, shaking his head. His whole body is trembling, and he’s left his guard down, so he doesn’t notice the man from before by his side. 

The man sat on the counter sighs, and shuffles over to Peter’s bedside. He stops, sighs again, and changes his mind, aiming for the door instead.

“Sir.” 

”Alright, baby girl. Coming.” 

When the doors open and he finally leaves, Peter relaxes, only to jump back at another man’s presence at his side. He swallows down the lump in his throat, and attempts to slow his breathing enough that he can see again. 

“Peter, I’m Bruce.” 

Peter watches him move warily, though he only reaches above Peter’s head and grabs a small notebook. 

“Bruce Banner. We’ve met before.” Peter doesn’t blink, and Bruce writes something in his diary. “You’re in a medical ward, do you know why?” 

Peter swallows again, attempting to push words out of his mouth. They come out strangled and garbled, so he tries again and again, straining his vocal chords under the weight of attempting to get them to uncoil again. 

“I...Th-They w, uh, whip t-t-t-too ha-ard.” 

Bruce shakes his head, and looks above him, to where Peter’s heartbeat is continuously flashing. The flashing gets a little bit quicker, then slows again, and Bruce monitors it while he speaks. 

“No, Peter. You’re not there anymore. You’re home.”

Home? It didn’t seem there was such a thing left. Peter winces, and shakes his head minutely. They’d tried that before - no way was he falling for it again. 

“They hurt you, but you’re getting better. We’ll explain it to you another time, when you’re more settled.” 

Again, Peter flinches, as Bruce places the notebook back on a shelf above his head. Peter can’t force his neck to move, unable to uncoil the knots left in his body. 

Peter watches as Bruce walks back to the computer, now furiously typing away. He takes another sip of the coffee, but Peter can’t bring his lips to explain he needs water.

He wouldn’t have listened anyway; it was one of their favourite games, seeing how long Peter could go without food or water (or sometimes both), before experiencing illusions and hallucinations. They loved torturing his mind almost as much as they loved hurting his body. 


	3. Chapter 3

When Bruce finally lets him off the bed, Peter crawls straight to the corner and doesn’t move. He scrabbles at the walls, but his body isn’t working anymore, so he ends in a slumped heap as people come, and leave.

The man Bruce had been with leaves and comes back with a cup of water and a group of strangers. He spends his time destroying the cup into shreds rather than worrying about the people staring at him like he’s a freak show.

Some of them stay a while, some of them don’t. A couple in particular show up regularly and leave, crying. Peter can’t understand why. 

He keeps flinching, waiting for the pain, but it never comes. It’s almost agony, and he wants to scream at them to hurt him, _please_ hurt him so he feels like he’s real again. His body feels wrong as it waits for the pain, on edge and so tense it’s almost painful. 

Peter stays in the corner for three days, not moving even when Bruce tries to force him back onto the bed. As if he’ll ever want to lie down ever again. 

By the fourth day of refusing to move, the fever is ripping through him, forcing shivers and vomit out of his body by the minute. It seems Bruce isn’t the only doctor here, because people come, and they leave, with masses of medication and needles. He never lets them close enough to hurt him, though, so the pain seizes his body rigid. 

They provoke a panic attack more than once, though Peter’s not sure they know it’s them that causes it. He sits, in a pile of blood, vomit and spit as they stare at him like _he_ was the mutant, and they don’t understand his terror. 

There’s not many people around him, but he still cowers into the wall like it’ll mould a protective ball around him. 

“Tony, I don’t think-“ 

Tony. Why does that name sound so familiar? Peter’s hands begin to shake, uncontrollable and rapid, as he’s unable to figure out where he knew the name from. Was he here to torture him? He didn’t think he’d learnt the names of his tormentors, but he’d also been here longer than he thought, so anything could have happened. 

A man crouches down in front of Peter, and holds a hand out. His eyes are red, puffy, and he looks like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Peter’s breath hitches and he flinches back as the man places a hand on his own thigh - he leans slightly closer, eyebrows pulling together.

”Hey, that’s it. Good boy, you’re okay.” 

Like he’s just had a glass of water after three days of dehydration, Peter feels giddy with happiness. He _was_  home. It was the doctors, poking and hurting and injecting him, leaving shallow praises here and there - It meant _everything_ to Peter, showed him he wasn’t about to be hurt anymore. He’s _real_. He’s _there_. 

The teenager leans in closer, letting the man wrap his arms around his shaking body, relishing in the warmth and comfort it gives his beaten body. A weak smile finds its way to his lips, pulling the corners of his mouth upwards without his consent. 

“I got you, kid. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.” 

His fingers are threading through Peter’s hair, while the younger boy knows exactly what to do. 

_Sit still. Obey. You can return the favour soon._

He didn’t like favouring the men, but it didn’t hurt like getting beat and tasered and whipped did. They loved it, so Peter pretended to like it too. He _did_ like it, when he was given the water that tasted like old blood and rotting money bills. It reached his veins quicker than he could blink, and his immune system had long since given up fighting against it. 

 

“ _Here. Drink this. You’ll feel better.”_

_Peter eagerly laps it up, not bothering to ponder on the strange taste and the way the man’s staring at him. His body, having not had any proper hydration or nutrients in the past week welcomes it quickly, too quickly, and before Peter can speak, he feels sluggish._

_Like his eyes are weighed down by bricks, he moves his hands slowly in front of his face as the man pushes his hands roughly up Peter’s thighs. He plays over the bare skin, forcing shivers out of Peter’s body._

_The teenager’s eyebrows draw together, and he attempts to shove the man’s hands away, though his arms only fall limp at his sides. He unwillingly lets the man guide him down onto the bed. His body almost welcomes the touch when the man reaches under Peter’s shirt and presses their lips together. Cold, rough and chapped, Peter is sure he’ll **never** forget the feeling of the man’s lips on his. It’s disgusting, but Peter can’t move, can’t speak, can barely breathe at this point. _

_The man trails his hand down Peter’s side and smiles, his fingers worrying the edge of Peter’s underwear._

_Spider sense or not, Peter’s in danger and he knows it, but he can’t stop it, no matter how hard he tries to push his body out of the drugs._

_“Don’t worry, little one. You’ll enjoy this.”_

_His eyes relish everything Peter’s young body has to offer, greedily stealing away the innocence like a parasite sucking blood._

_The man leans down closer, his hands already guiding Peter’s to his lap, his eyes trained on the teenagers small body._

_”Besides,” he winks. “You can return the favour later.”_

 

Peter wants it over _now_. He doesn't want to have to endure the first part before he's forced to return any favours. He doesn’t bother to wait for the stranger - Tony - to give him water. Instead, he pushes himself up, ignoring the rancid smell of vomit and blood, and sets about diving into the older man’s lap. 

His small, shaking fingers are fumbling with the belt, undoing it while the man’s body goes stiff and rigid. He’s almost done, hastily starting to pulling the trousers down the man’s knees before the man is pushing him away harshly, arms gripping him from the back. 

Peter’s body goes into panic mode. He screams, but he can’t breathe, can’t see, through the snot and the tears that stain his face. Through the blurriness in his eyes, Peter watches as Tony sits on the floor, too shocked to move while he watches the kid struggle against the arms, reaching out for the older man. 

He screams, thrashing like a child, legs kicking and arms flailing.   _Please let me_ , he shrieks, but nothing comes out of his mouth. _He's gonna get hurt, I’m gonna die, I can’t breathe -_

Peter sobs, going limp in the strangers arms. Tony is on his feet, staring at Peter with eyes as wide as saucers. Bruce leans in and whispers something to him, and he shuffles on his feet, shaking his head. 

Upon seeing the man, Peter only cries harder, shaking his head so hard he sees stars. His clothes stick to him from the vomit and sweat that cover his chest and thighs, hair sticking up madly as his eyes rush around the room, looking for just _one_ familiar face. 

When he can’t find it, he lets out a shaky breath and rests his head against the stranger. He’d learnt by now that there was no point in fearing the man - it would only make things worse.

A needle pricks the skin in his neck, so small that Peter can hardly feel it. The person holding him rubs small circles on his shoulder, whispering things Peter can’t even hear. 

Shaking, he blinks slowly and lets his eyes lock with Tony’s. The man is so unfamiliar, yet Peter’s stomach flips when he looks at him. Nerves, he tells himself, but he can’t be sure. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, sluggish and weak. The drug has taken it’s toll, and he flinches slowly from phantom hands, opening his mouth to speak again. “I’ll-”

Peter lets his head fall weak against the stranger’s shoulder. No use fighting. 


	4. Chapter 4

Tony hasn’t been to his room for a week.

Peter had slowly started to remember the faces of those who _had_ been in, Steve, and Stephen, and Bruce, and Natasha. Names had been thrown around here and there; ‘Thor’, ‘Clint’ - strange names Peter hadn’t heard before. He’d slowly begun to accept the realisation that if people were coming, they meant okay. 

It was even slower that he had to come to terms that Tony wasn’t there to  hurt him - that, on that day, he didn’t mean to hurt Peter, and he didn’t want any favours in return. It was exhausting, fighting off his innate instinct to throw himself at the next man to walk in the room, but he was learning. Perhaps, just maybe, he’d gotten out. Maybe he’d gotten lucky. 

He still didn’t know what they wanted from him. He’d been interrogated, sedated, restrained, but never hurt. Whatever they did, they did it with an uncomfortable calmness. 

A slight knock on the door brought Peter out of his state, and he blinked rapidly up at the piece of wood ahead of him. Despite where he was, his body still tensed and flinched when it opened, and Bruce stepped in, smiling gently at Peter. 

“You still don’t want to use the bed?” 

Peter didn’t answer, glancing vacantly at the bed next to him. Covered in blankets and pillows, it looked oddly enticing and strangely terrifying all in one.

"That's okay. We're gonna need to do something today that you might not be happy with, okay? It's not going to hurt, but it might be a little discomforting." 

Peter perked up at that, crawling over slightly before stopping. He opened his mouth slightly, only to shut it when Bruce made eye contact with him. Hands shaking gently, he sat back on his feet and waited for the older man to explain.

Bruce sighed and knelt down; they still hadn't convinced Peter that he was allowed to stand up.

"We know you went through a lot. But we need to know exactly what happened, so we can sort this out." He hushed Peter as his eyes widened, and continued hastily. "You don't have to tell us everything, in too much detail. You don't have to tell us right now. But we’ll need to know one day.” 

He held a hand out as he stood, offering it to the small boy.

 

_Peter gasped, choking on the water that had seemingly become lost down his throat._

_"I s-said, I don't know any-anything!"_

_He wheezed as the man threw another punch at his face, further breaking his smashed nose. Peter flinched and glared up at his tormenter._

_"M-Mr. Stark is c-coming. He won't l-l-let you get a-away with th-this." He shivered, teeth chattering as the cold water seeped into his bones. He sat on the concrete in only his boxers, wrists and ankles bound together._

_"Oh, but sweetheart." The man taunted, leaning in to brush his fingers over Peter's jaw - the teenager hissed in response and yanked his face back when the man pressed firmly on the bruise. "How is he going to find you? Look around, baby doll. Not even **you** know where you are."_

_It was horrifyingly true, and Peter lowered his head at that. Even if he tried to escape, how would he call for help? All it would earn him would be more days without food, and he needed as many nutrients as he could._

_"Don't worry, once we're finished with you, you won't even remember Mr. Stark's name."_

_The statement made Peter freeze and look up with swollen eyes. His breath caught in his throat, choking around the words he so desperately craved to say._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I mean, angel face - you won't remember your little friends back home even existed. If you ever do escape, which you **won't** , sugar lips," he winked, stretching his fingers out in front of him. "Who would you call? You won't know anyone."_

_A look of horror crossed over Peter's face and he watched the man extend a hand to him, voice soft and gentle. "C'mon, princess. We can do this the easy way,-"_

_Peter kicked him in the shins, his weak body falling to the floor once it made contact with the man's leg. His tormenter barely even flinched, but a dark smirk crossed over his face, and he grit his teeth. He set his jaw, towering over Peter like he was a inconvenient bug._

_"I guess you choose the hard way."_

_Peter barely had time to take a breath before the man's foot made contact with his face, exploding pain behind his eyeballs. Screaming, he curled his body into a ball, cradling his face like it’d stop the bleeding he knew too well was there._

_The man sighed from above him, pressing down on his fingers with his boot. He smiled as Peter whimpered, body writhing on the cold, concrete floor._

_“We’ll get it out of you eventually.”_

Peter flinched back and drew himself away from Bruce, shakily getting to his feet himself. Hands gripping a blanket, he let Bruce lead him out of the room and down the stairs. 

The area they were in was so different to where he’d previously been - it was light, clean, exploding colour at every corner. It hurt his eyes, the brightness of the walls making him feel ill with every step. 

There were so many rooms that Peter had to wonder how nobody got lost here. Perhaps they did, and they just pretended they knew where they were going. Peter was very good at pretending.

Instead of pulling him further into the spacious hallway, Bruce gently led him into another small room with only a sofa and a table. Tony sat in the corner, and Peter refused to make eye contact with him, staring blankly at his feet. Out of everyone in this damn tower, Tony was the one he couldn’t handle. 

"Now, Peter, I need to make sure it's okay for you if Mr. Stark stays here with you. He just wants to know a little bit more about what happened. Is that okay?"

Peter just nodded, breathless. Why did that name knock every bit of sense out of him?

He started when Bruce took his hand, staring at _Mr. Stark_  with vacant eyes, before letting the doctor gently guide him to the sofa.

"Okay, Pete. You can start wherever. Whenever you're ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm embarrassed by how terrible this chapter is. RIP.


	5. Chapter 5

Hot tears spilled down Peter’s cheeks as he leant forward into his hands, body jolting with sobs. He felt a hand on his knee, knowing immediately it was Tony, who’d moved closer to him halfway through the talk. Successfully suppressing the flinch, he rubbed his hands down his face and looked up at Bruce with teary eyes. 

“This is good,” Bruce smiled gently, ignoring Tony’s look of absolute betrayal. “You’re accepting what they did was wrong. You’re doing so well.” 

Despite the heaviness in his heart, Peter felt it surge a little listening to the praise coming from the older man. He swallowed, trying to ignore the itch underneath his skin that begged for pain, and nodded slightly. 

”Peter, what happened to you was unimaginable. But, it happened, and we must learn to help you move past this. We can’t do that until you remember us, and allow us to help you.” Bruce explained softly, presenting Peter with a small stress ball.

Tony smiled, watching the kid gently squeeze the ball. The initials ‘ _T.S_ ’ stood out like a sore thumb, reminding Tony of how insignificant his problems seemed right now in comparison to Peter’s.

”Do you know what an arc reactor is?” 

Tony bolted up at the question, immediately moving to shut Bruce up. The teenager had so much on his plate, and knowing the people surrounding him caused so much controversy would only force him further away. 

Peter’s tears slowly began to stop, dried tracks forcing him to scrub at his cheeks. He shook his head, and turned his gaze upwards to meet Bruce’s eyes. 

“Well, Tony - Mr. Stark -,” He corrected himself, watching the way Peter reacted with vague familiarity to the name. “Has this cool light stuck in his chest. Helps him sleep.” 

Peter turned to Tony, his eyes full of tears and stolen innocence, and gingerly swallowed in the presence of the light. Gently glowing, it provided a soft hue to the semi-dark room, and both Tony and Bruce watched in amazement as Peter reached his finger out and shakily touched the light. 

The reactor lit up in response and Peter reacted in a way Tony was sure he would never see the kid do again. 

He _giggled_. 

Only softly, quietly, but Tony felt tears rise in his eyes, and looked up to see Bruce in the same state. It was gone as quickly as it came on, and Peter shrunk back into the sofa in fear, but it was _there_ , and for the first time in a long time, Tony felt _hope_. 

“Alright,” Bruce said gently, leaning back to give Peter space to breathe. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Why don’t we get you back to bed and see how you are tomorrow?” 

*

The room had been customised for Peter, waiting for him when he came home. It had been collecting dust for so long, Tony was beginning to doubt they’d ever use it.

However, now, Peter lay in bed, watching Tony with panic-stricken eyes. He’d begin to hyperventilate, and was clutching at his shirt like a lifeline. 

“Hey, I told you - you can stay in bed. It’s okay.” 

Peter nodded stiffly, only to crawl off the bed as soon as Tony moved, and throw himself into the corner of the room.

“W-Wait!” 

It was the loudest the kid had spoken in so long, that it took Tony by surprise and he had to collect himself before turning around. The teenager sat, curled in a corner and terrified, staring at the older man like he’d grown three heads. 

“Can’t s-s-sleep.” He mumbled, fingers slightly pulling at his curls. 

Tony bit down on his lip and made his way slowly down to the floor. He gently sat down next to Peter: the two examined each other for a minute, allowing Peter’s breathing to slow as he visibly relaxed. His eyes caught sight of Tony’s arc reactor and he smiled slightly.  The corners of his mouth looked taught, only pulled up very gently, but it was _there_ , and that was enough. 

The older man smiled, and lifted his own hand to the light. 

“It helps me sleep. Maybe it’ll help you too?” 

It was more of a statement than a question, but Peter nodded silently and sunk into the corner of the room, his eyes trained on the reactor. Tony pretended not to notice when he snuck his thumb into his mouth and began softly crying. 

Within minutes, the kid was asleep, and Tony leant back in exhaustion. He hadn’t been able to sleep since they got Peter back, spending every waking moment trying to find a lead, any lead. He’d come up short, and it was frustrating him to no end. 

Tony’s eyes found their way to his own arc reactor and he felt the pull of sleep against his eyes. Incredibly, he felt irrevocably safe with Peter’s warm body curled next to him, his chest rising and falling like it always did. Soft, and gentle, he wasn’t dead, and he was okay. He would be okay. 


	6. Chapter 6

When Peter awoke, Tony was nowhere to be found. His back hurt from propping his body up against the wall, but when his eyes travelled over to the middle of the room, he knew why he was so wary. 

 _The_ _bed_.

Almost immediately, he was on edge, fingernails digging into his palms like knives. The bed was so close, so inviting to him, and he found himself choking on air trying to scramble up the wall and away from it. When he couldn’t stick to the wall, he slid into a shaking ball, crying softly while he twitched. His eyes flickered around the room, wide and full of unshed tears, until they locked on the open door. 

 

_They’d left the door open to tease him. He knew it. Yet, he still tried to crawl his way to the open, steel door, dragging his useless, broken ankle behind him. Bloody fingernails dug into the cold floor as he attempted to crawl faster, letting out small whimpers as pain shot through his limbs. It didn't work, and his broken fingers kept slipping on the cold floor._

_He could smell something, something different to the coppery smell of death that followed him constantly. Tears filled his eyes as he heard a small scream. It was female - he hadn’t heard a female voice in weeks._

_Peter let out a cry before biting down on his lip, hard. Lifting a hand to his forehead, he drew it away, covered in blood, and had to stifle a sob. He was so close, yet the overwhelming dizziness had him recoiling back in agony._

_He’d just made it to the door when a boot crashed down on his spine._

_The man above him tutted, crushing his foot down onto the fragile bones._

_“Oh dear, baby spider. Looks like those spider senses aren’t working very well anymore.”_

_The teenager lets out a cry of anguish, desperately stretching out his fingers to reach the door. They barely brush the doorway, fingertips just touching the outside the door. The tease of freedom taunts him, making him sick under the agony in his back._

_"You really thought we'd let you walk out? You're the best experiment we've had." The man leans down, pulling at Peter’s curls until his spine’s bent, stretching out despite how his lungs scream in restriction. Shudders and silent tears escape him, his body much too exhausted to attempt to conceal his distress. He pulls his shaking hand back, struggling like a fish out of water below the man's weight, and lets out a shaky breathe._

_"You've lost the ability to crawl. Why don't you try jumping onto the ceiling?"_

_Cold shock knocks the breath out his lungs as his body falls still. The overwhelming realisation that he hadn't been able to crawl with the grip he'd had before overpowers him, and he flinches in fear. At this point, he barely remembered being able to walk on walls. He couldn't even remember his own name._

 

He was screaming when a figure ran through the open door, bent down next to him, and positioned their shaking hands over his body, never once touching the skin. The teenager flinched away, tears leaking down his cheeks uncontrollably. His lungs began to give up on him, alternating between puffing quicker than ever and ceasing to breathe at all.

The pain was exploding in his chest area, tight and suffocating like he couldn’t get any breath out. He dug his nails into his arms, pressing hard enough to make nail marks in his skin. He dragged them down, sobbing, and screamed out in wordless agony. 

The man above him was clutching him now, pulling his hands away from where they were scratching at his skin. The loss of grounding contact shocked him, and he flinched back, crying in Tony’s arms. 

“You’re okay,” Tony whispers, quietly mumbling sweet nothings against his hair. “You’re okay.” 

Peter jolted, struggling against the restraint Tony had on him. His arms barred him into himself, too tight and concealing for his brain to decipher the difference between Mr. Stark and whoever had been hurting him. 

With a scream, he throws his head back, slamming it into Tony’s shoulder, crying even as the older man swears and tries hurriedly to shush the teenager. 

Maybe it’s the overwhelming extremities of this inability to breathe, or the suffocating hold Tony has on him, buy his vision goes spotty, and suddenly, Peter’s blacking out into the older man’s arms without another tear. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you couldn't tell, i'm a really shitty writer and an even shittier updater. i can't keep on top of things to save my life. this is turning into a terrible rollercoaster, but soldier on with me. i just need a break and then will get back on top of things. thank you!

_3 weeks later_

 

After making little to no progress with Peter, Tony felt ready to throw himself out a window and scream away the pain he felt. It sunk him down like an anchor, knowing how much his kid had gone through, yet not being able to help. It made him feel weak, and stupid, and helpless - something he _hated_.

They still hadn't found the bastards who'd taken Peter, done god knows what to him. Bruce had been frantically trying to figure out how they'd so successfully brainwashed him - after all, he wasn't a two year old kid who couldn't recognise faces. He was a fifteen year old teenager, who knew everything about Tony before the man had had chance to figure it out himself. Not only that, but he was _strong_. Heightened abilities or not, the kid was one of the strongest people Tony knew, and the fact they'd been able to completely deprogram him was scarier than anything he'd ever had to endure.

Some days, it seemed they were making progress, that Peter was finally starting to open up. Some days, it seemed they were right back to square one. Today seemed to be one of those days.

Tony flew into Bruce's lab, taking little notice of the cup of coffee outstretched to him. He batted it away and leant down, looking intently at the screen over Bruce's shoulder.

"Good morning to you, too." Bruce spoke, but his lips remained in a thin line as he watched Tony study the computer screen.

"Who's this from?"

Tony leant back, looking at Bruce.

"Remember when I decided I wanted to try that psychology group a couple years ago?" He didn't. "Well, the mentor there, one of the smartest people I know. I emailed her, and guess what? She's a therapist. More specifically, a children's therapist."

Tony nodded, slowly, still not understanding where the conversation was going.

"Bruce, I don't think Peter needs a therapist. We're dealing with a case of a brainwashed, scared, trauma ridden child who won't speak to us. I think this is a little above her..." he searched for the word, shrugging. "Experience."

"Yeah, but that's it!" Bruce exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. "She's not just a typical children's therapist. She's worked with kids from all sorts of backgrounds. Abuse, kidnapping, you name it. The hardcore stuff." Tony winced, and Bruce sent an apologetic look. "Tones, look. There's no harm in trying. If Peter doesn't like her, she won't come back. We might as well try."

Tony sighed, and ran a hand down his face, rubbing at the bags under his eyes.

"When can she come? Tell her I can give her whatever money she wants, get her in as quickly as possible."

Bruce looked sheepish, as he stood from his chair. "Uh, yeah. I already did. She'll be here in an hour."

\----

"There's somebody I want you to meet, okay? And I'm gonna be right here with you, just in case anything happens. Alright?" Tony smiled softly down at Peter, gently rubbing the back of his hand. It was a small gesture that they'd found was the only physical contact Peter was okay with. It had been over a month since he'd been home, and Tony had never stopped wishing for a hug since.

The teenager brought his finger to his lips, sucking on it harshly. It seemed to calm him, but it often broke the skin around his nails, meaning his hands were a mess of broken flesh and blood. He nodded hesitantly, looking at the door with a crestfallen look. Legs trembling, he allowed Tony to open the door, and they stepped in.

Helen was a small women, slim and short, and her face held a strange familiarity whilst being simultaneously stern. She greeted them with a small smile, legs crossed in front of her from where she sat on the floor. Her attention spanned directly into Peter, and she invited him immediately onto the floor in front of her. 

“Do you want to sit down, Peter?” 

Whilst it was a question, Peter immediately complied and sat down without blinking. He stayed there, stiff and unmoving, eyes just waiting for the next instruction. It broke Tony’s heart, but Helen seemed unmoved by the sudden submissiveness of the teenager in front of her.

Suddenly, Tony wasn’t sure this was the best idea. 

A small spider plush toy was in the middle of the floor, and Tony felt tears spring to his eyes. 

“How are you feeling today?” She asked gently, picking up the spider. She held it for a hesitant second before offering it with a soft expression to Peter. 

The boy took it without a second thought, though curiosity spiked in his face as he looked down at the small toy in his hands. 

“Uh, I don’t-“ he broke off, looking up nervously at Tony. Perhaps they hadn’t got any further in figuring out what happened to him, but the progress they’d made with Peter’s speech was incredible. “Good.” 

Helen smiled, and took the spider back, gently squeezing it. 

“I want you to know that nothing in this room is going to hurt you.” It was abrupt, sudden, and she’d gone straight for the elephant in the room. “Not this spider, or the walls, or me. You’re safe. When you’re holding this spider, you can talk, deal?” 

Peter seemed uneasily comforted by the promise that he didn’t have to speak unless he had the spider, but it still tugged at Tony’s heart strings as he realised Helen’s words sounded half like a demand. 

“Do you want to talk about anything?” 

With a bite of shock, Peter nodded and made grabby hands towards the spider. It was such a childish move, and the regression only further showed when he cuddled the toy into his chest.

 “I, uh- I’m, I-” Helen nodded, her shoulders relaxed, whilst Tony felt like he was on the skin of his teeth waiting for Peter to tell them something, _anything_. 

“H-Hungry.” Peter looked down to his stomach, holding the spider closer. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hand made its way to his mouth, beginning to suck on the fingers. 

Helen smiled, nodding gently, before casting a look towards Bruce and Tony. 

“Let’s go get you some food then, yeah?” 

Half through obedience, half through uneasy trust, Peter followed her as she made her way into the kitchen, making sure to keep a side eye on Tony at all times. 

He stood in the kitchen, looking incredibly tiny, hesitant to take a step towards any food. 

“Is there anything you want in particular, Peter?” Helen asked, already rifling through the cupboards.

“I, uh,” The teenager started, eyes flickering from the spider still clutched in his trembling fingers to the cupboards above his head. “Porridge?” 

It was so soft Tony barely heard it, but Helen was immediately taking out instant oats and pouring water into the kettle like she’d been expecting that answer. 

She turned around, grinning, and took a slow step towards Peter. 

“You’ve done so well, Peter. I think that’s enough for today, don’t you?” 

Her eyes flickered to Tony and Bruce, gesturing with her eyes to step out of the room. 

She sat Peter down at the kitchen table and poured the water into the oats, stirring it until it was just warm enough for him not to burn his mouth. 

He declined the offer for any toppings, eyes as wide as saucers at the small bowl of porridge. He seemed absolutely over the moon with having such a small meal, hunching over it, as if he was afraid it would be taken away from him at any given moment. 

Helen left him, all three adults standing in the doorway to keep an eye on Peter. She looked delighted, but Tony seemed doubtful.

“You should be extremely pleased. That was a huge, huge step for Peter.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed, looking at the boy who seemed to be inhaling the porridge, and back at Helen. 

“He didn’t tell us anything. We aren’t any closer to knowing what happened - Besides that they didn’t let him eat properly, but we knew that already.” 

Helen gave him a pointed, annoyed look. 

“You might not think he did anything useful, but what Peter has just displayed took an extreme amount of control and confidence. Asking for food to him would have been like asking to be released.” 

Tony sunk back, sheepish. “I know, but-“ 

Bruce put a hand on Tony’s bicep, turning to Peter. 

“You should be really proud of your boy, Tones. He’s come a long way.” 

Despite the sinking feeling Tony felt that they’d never understand what Peter went through, he smiled. His kid had already come such a long way, and while they endured way more bad days than good, it was the progression on the good days that kept Tony going.

The only thing he wanted was for Peter to be happy, to be back to how he was before. New York was missing its friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, and Tony Stark was missing his _kid_. 

 _One day_ , he smiled. _One day._


	8. Chapter 8

_“Who’s this?” The tone is condescending, mocking Peter as he shakily lifts a hand in an attempt to crawl himself towards the corner. The man stamps on his fingers again, and the teenager howls as a resounding crack is heard in the room._

_“I - t-told you! I don’t r-remember!” He’s being undeniably honest, and at this point, he’s sure they just enjoy hurting him, rather than not believing him._

_The man sighs, and bends down close to his face, lips only inches away from his ear._

_”We know you’re lying. Your heart rate is elevated, you’re sweating, you’re panting - Just tell us who he is and we’ll let you go.” He pauses, looks around, before pressing his face harshly into Peter’s to whisper in his ear. “I’d suggest you change your answer, little spider. The clock’s ticking.“_

_Peter looks up at the picture that’s held out in front of him, trying his hardest to figure out who the man is. The stubble around his chin, and the coloured glasses that frame his eyes are only subtly familiar, and the frustration of being unable to grasp a name hits him again._

_The man’s boot twists, further snapping the bones in Peter’s fingers._

_“I don’t know!” He wails, curling in on himself. It’s a skill he learnt to protect the most vital areas of his body - his sensitive stomach, and his face._

_The deep sigh makes him look up at his tormenter, watching the way the man’s lips press into a thin line. He nods at someone in the corner, and bends down to Peter, not taking his eyes off of him the whole time._

_“You know,” he begins, greasy forehead glistening as he gets closer to the child. His eyes hold enough anger to have Peter’s heart jumping. “I hoped we wouldn’t have to do this. It’s kind of sick, in my opinion.”_

_He looks up, just above Peter’s head, and smiles. The teenager can’t find the energy in him to lift his eyes._

_“But, it makes you talk.”_

_The light flicks back on, and there are hands all over Peter, under his arms, on his stomach, trailing down his legs. He can hear the familiar nicknames spilling out of the man’s mouth, and feels sick._

_“Oh baby doll, sometimes I think you enjoy playing up just so we can spend more time together.” The man licks a stripe down his jaw, his hand already trailing down Peter’s hips and under his waistband. Bile reaches his throat, and it takes all of his strength to swallow it down, along with the tears that threaten to fall. “You’re so gorgeous, pumpkin, but if you defy us...” he trails off, but Peter doesn’t need to hear what he has to say. The tone of his voice already has him wishing he knew who the man was._

 

He awakes with a start, eyes dry. He learnt to stop crying a long time ago. 

Tony’s staring at him, the bruises under his eyes dark and angry. He’s leaning back on his chair, a cup of cold coffee at his feet.

“Have another nightmare, kid?” 

He even _sounds_ tired, and his breathing falters as he looks over Peter. The boy is covered in sweat, yet his face remains emotionless. There’s no feeling in his eyes as he leans back warily against the pillows and stares Tony straight in the eyes. 

“Bad dream.” 

His voice is so characteristically childish that Tony flinches. He never liked to describe the nightmares he had as anything such, so he called them ‘not good.’ Never bad dreams, but it was enough for Tony to understand how the kid was feeling. The fact that the little phrase he’d adapted had been lost in the torture forces breaks in Tony’s heart strings. 

They sit in silence for a while, before Peter blinks himself out of the trance. 

“I forgot who you were,” he starts. “I still...don’t know who you are. I’m learning, but they...took it away from me. My memories. I don’t-“

He breaks off, and his face contorts as if all the emotion suddenly rushed back into his soul. He blinks a couple of times, before his eyes settle on Tony and he visibly relaxes.

”They hurt me.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, but he knows he doesn’t need to. He’s in pain, and for him to admit that they hurt him has Tony’s heart surging in an agonising sense of happiness. He watches the way Peter shuffles himself against the pillows, obviously uncomfortable but so relaxed in his statement that Tony almost feels as though this is _too_ quickly - the thought passes quickly. 

“Good job, kid. Good job.” 

A small smile graces Peter’s lips, the ghost of who he used to be ever so prominent. He’s Peter; not the tortured prisoner they kept all those months. Guilt surges in Tony’s stomach, but it quickly settles as Peter whines softly, hesitantly, and watches Tony with pleading eyes. 

Silently conversing, Tony agrees, and crosses the room to crouch by Peter’s bedside. He smiles at the boy, heart pounding at the way the kid shyly offers a half smile in return. 

Strangely quickly, Peter’s eyes slip closed and he falls asleep. The shaking in his hand ceases, and he falls limp against the pillows, a glance of innocence falling gracefully against his cheeks. 

Tony reaches a hand up to stroke the kids’ cheek, unshed tears pooling in his eyes. He strokes the greasy locks atop his head, kisses the forehead etched in worry marks. He’s so _Peter_ that it’s almost domestic, and makes Tony smile in complete joy. 

The dim moonlight beams through the window above the bed, the curtains pinned back per Peter’s request. It’s early, all cold and clean as the morning graces the earth. Tony takes a moment to watch Peter’s chest rise and fall under the soft light of the moon, his skin pale and scarred but so soft and familiar, so _Peter_. 

After months of not being able to coax anything more than silent whimpers and bottles of unshed tears, a hazy, sleep induced confession has given Tony all the hope that they’re _finally_ getting somewhere. He leans in closer, and presses a kiss against Peter’s forehead, nuzzling his nose gently against his hair. 

“Yeah, Pete. I got you.” 


	9. Chapter 9

“Peter? Can you come back to us?” 

Helen’s words fall deaf on Peter’s unresponsive soul, her voice ringing through his ears as if it’s been suffocated under the waves of his comatose state. 

Tony watches him, biting anxiously at the skin around his nails. It’s a habit Peter picked up on a while ago, little ticks that he noticed when he stared at Tony working while the older man thought Peter was asleep. 

The shower floor is cold underneath him, the air settling into his wet, cold limbs through the open window to his left. Water pools around near his shins and, while he shivers, he can’t bring himself to move. 

“Is this a nightmare...or something? He just blanked out like he was sleepwalking.” 

Tony’s voice comes from far away, like he’s standing on the other side of rubble crushing down onto Peter’s lungs. He tries to reach it, understanding that the man isn’t there to hurt him, but his limbs refuse to move with his mind. 

“Peter? Are you awake?” 

 _Yes_ , he croaks out, but his lips don’t move. 

“Dissociation is common in victims suffering with PTSD. Was he in the shower to begin with or did you find him like this?” 

Peter doesn’t hear Tony’s response. He’s too far away, floating on an island full of angry lions and crashing waves. Every sound makes him flinch, but his body doesn’t seem to move with the actions. Fear settles in him like a brick, but he shows no physical signs of being anything but numb, like he’s fucking _paralysed_. 

Some days, he wishes he couldn’t feel at all. Today, he’d give anything to feel again. 

 "I don't know," Tony continues, just as Peter’s vision starts to swim out of the fog it was stuck in. "I left him in his room, and when I found him, he was in the shower scrubbing his skin raw." There's a tightness about Tony's voice, like he's choking something back. It's unsettling.

"Peter?"

~~_Peter, Peter, Peter..._ ~~

 

_Peter gasps, his jaw tightening around the gum shield in his mouth. Drool spills down his chin, and his legs shake involuntarily._

_It hurts, so bad that tears leak out of his eyes. It's their first rule, not to let tears spill, but Peter can't bring himself to care in the moment. He's in pain. Agonising, blinding-_

_The machine clicks off, and Peter slumps into the chair, teeth unclenching from the gum shield.  A wave of sheer exhaustion rolls over him, so intense that he doesn't even notice they've undone his restraints until somebody yanks him from his chair, too harshly for his sensitive body. He lets out a choked cry and falls limp on the floor, his limbs softly spasming. The man above him holds a look of terror as he watches Peter's body twist and flinch on the floor like a fish out of water._

_"Hádanka!"_

_Peter immediately knows that voice - one of the many voices that haunt him at night, so harsh and cold that Peter isn't sure it's real anymore._

_Another man steps above him. Poslanec._

_The wiry hair that grows from the bottom of his chin is dripping in the spit that flies out of his mouth as he screams venom at the man above Peter. His mouse-like face contorts into a glare, and it doesn’t flinch as he presses a knife into the man's gut. Again, and again, and again._

_Peter, for one, would have laughed if he wasn't in so much pain. Poslanec made it very clear that anybody who hurt Peter unnecessarily would be punished; yet, Peter’s figuring out that it’s second nature for the man in charge to do it himself._

 

“I thought he was getting better,” Peter hears as his vision begins to swim back into focus. His cheeks are strangely wet and his hands are shaking violently - He looked down at himself, bewildered and terrified. 

“Please take me out,” he sobbed, hands clumsily trying to push himself up. “Please, I’ll be good, I p-promise.”  

He lifted his pleading gaze to lock with Tony’s eyes, almost whimpering in frustration. 

The man gently bends down to take him out of the tub, eyes asking for permission at every step. The hands on his body are foreign, _cold_ , but he keeps his mouth shut and allows Helen to wrap a towel around his body. Her blue eyes hold a odd mix of worry and profession, accompanied only by her straightened back and pointed chin. 

“Pete?” 

There’s so many questions in just the one sentence that Peter doesn’t answer to begin with. Slowly coming down from the flashback, he blinks slowly, tiredly, and tries to breathe properly. 

“Remembered something.” He mumbles, and watches as Helen nods. She takes over before Tony can even open his mouth. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” 

Peter hesitates before shaking his head. He can only imagine what would happen if he spoke.  _How weak_. Tony keeps an eye on him at all times, making sure he’s safe with every word. While the memories of the man are there, somewhere, he can’t help but see the uniforms the guards wore everytime he turns his head. 

“Peter, I understand you’ve been through a lot, but sometimes talking can help. You’re going to need to open up someday.” 

The words reach his ears bluntly and he flinches, watching as Tony steps forward and opens his mouth, all but ready to yell. 

“Until that day, both me, and Mr. Stark will be here for you - but we can’t help you if we don’t understand what has happened.” 

Peter nods, still hesitant as he wraps the towel around himself. Helen gives him a warm smile, and leaves him with the spider. 

The fur of the animal is so soft underneath his fingers that he almost grins. It’s overwhelmingly comforting in a way he isn’t sure he’s ever felt before, and doesn’t try and hide the tears that spill from his eyes. Its lopsided, beaded eyes stare back at Peter and he smiles softly, bringing the spider closer to his chest. 

“Thank you, Helen: for coming so quickly.” 

Peter doesn’t hear her response as she walks off, leaving Tony staring at him for a few seconds before moving to sit a little ways to his right. He's at a safe distance, and one part of Peter screams at him to come near - the other, more sensible part of him, wants to run away and never breathe again. His lungs burn as he locks his eyes onto the spiders'; they bead right back into soul and the teenager smiles. Something solid.

He barely registers that Tony is watching him from further away, rapidly typing away on his phone. His gaze flicks up to Peter every few seconds, but the kid is perfectly intent on staring at the small spider in fascination. 

“ _Ublížili mi_.” 

Tony jolts in surprise, staring at the kid for a solid five seconds before understanding. A sentence spoke entirely in a language Tony doesn’t understand, and he isn't sure he's meant to.

He isn’t supposed to know what was exchanged between Peter and the spider. 

He continues their one-sided conversation and Tony smiles. Apparently, even setbacks are resulting in progress now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slovakian.


	10. Chapter 10

If Tony hadn’t had enough respect for Natasha before, he certainly did now. 

The woman blew his mind with her skills, how quick and easily she could track down even the smallest of governs - which, it seemed, this was. 

The cult that had stolen Peter were small, based in the outskirts of Slovakia, with only one known building harvesting all their lives research. Natasha had reported finding a few bastards there who’d gone to check the place out after they’d stormed it looking for Peter, only for them to shoot themselves as soon as they caught sight of her. 

“A HYDRA branch?” Tony sighs, leaning forward onto his elbows. Natasha and Steve sit to the left of him, while Bruce stands behind the chair on the right of him. They all look as tired as Tony feels, but he knows it won’t stop them in their journey. 

“I don’t think so,” Natasha replied. “They didn’t speak Russian, none of the rooms I found had any signs of other patients occupying them. I think it was a targeted attack.” 

As much as the statement curls Tony’s stomach, he nods grimly and stares down into his cold coffee cup. 

“Did you find anything else?” Steve says, ever so hopeful.

Natasha hesitates, her breath catching in her throat. 

”Nat?” Tony flicks his eyes up to meet hers, watching as a hint of conflict crosses her face. She nods and opens up the tablet resting on her arm, looking over to where it projects onto the wall.

“I found so many journals. They’re written in Slovak, so it’ll take me a while to translate them.” She explains, flicking through the pictures. “Most of them were labelled pavúk. Spider, in Slovak.” 

Tony drags a hand down his face and braces himself against the table, nauseous and dizzy all of a sudden. 

“There were loads of rooms full of contained water, and a room off to the side with a table and an electric machine. The room at the far end was where Peter stayed.” 

She pulls up a picture of the room and Tony furrows his eyebrows together. 

The room’s bare, sans a small mattress in the middle of the room, and a dirty brown bucket. The mattress looks stained wet, the floor underneath it mouldy and rotten. A small machine hooked up to two extending handheld devices lays discarded in the corner, and Tony feels a wave of nausea. 

“Knives, crowbars, bloody towels...” She trails off and clicks off the pictures as Tony’s face goes pale. “There’s enough evidence here to put them away for life.” 

Tony nods, sick and dizzy as he stands. 

“Save them. Get the police involved.” 

“Tony-”

He doesn’t turn around when he gets to the door, hellbent on finding his way to the nearest bathroom without throwing up in the hallway. 

His mind flashes back to the Peter they found, bound to the table, with the most horrific vacant look he’d ever seen in another human being ever. The Peter they brought home, scared and mute and twitchy, the Peter he’d been brainwashed into. 

He swallows back bile and turns a corner, only to come face to face with a tired, bruised eyed Peter. 

They don’t say anything for a while, staring at each other like they’re both dreaming. Peter lowers his head first, submissive and panicky. 

“I, uh,” he stutters out, fingers playing with the hem of his favourite t-shirt. Tony’s old one. “Uh, bad dream.” 

Tony nods, still in shock and frozen to the spot. He takes a soft breath in, unconsciously relaxing his shoulders. 

“Do you need anything?” 

Peter’s face looks odd, forlorn and confused but soft like he’s been crying. His eyes flick back and forth, the chewing of his lips never ceasing as he shuffles in front of Tony. 

“No, I, uh,” he manages, looking frustrated. “I don’t-I need-”

He looks like he’s about to cry, so Tony steps forward and gently lowers his head, tilting it to the side to see tear stains down Peter’s cheek. He refuses to look up, eyes squeezing shut after tears begin to leak out of them. 

“It’s okay. Take your-”

“I remember.”

Tony’s whole body jolts, Peter’s eyes now staring straight into him. His eyes are wide, red rimmed and wet as he blinks and nods his head gently at Tony. 

“I remember.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t even know how to apologise for such a long hiatus. i lost interest in this story, starting combating new things in my life, went through some really rough patches and some really good ones, but i’m stable now and finally trying to get my life together. i love you.


End file.
